


A Mess of Our Own Making

by scribblemyname



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Smut, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5637781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/scribblemyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Kate are hanging out and bored and decide to play truth or dare with potentially disastrous consequences.</p><p>No surprise there, concussed state of the Barton and all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mess of Our Own Making

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



"Truth or dare?"  
  
Clint raised his eyebrows at Kate, who was currently sprawled across his couch.  
  
"I'm bored," she complained. "And I can't sleep."  
  
"Then go back over to your place and sleep," he told her.  
  
She burrowed a little deeper into Lucky's flank and hmphed. "You're concussed, remember? I volunteered to babysit."  
  
_"You're_ concussed," Clint countered, silly grin on his face.  
  
She hmphed again. So maybe she'd been a little woozy when she'd first gotten slammed into way too much concrete by a blast (thanks, Tony), but she was fine now.  
  
"So," she said, "truth or dare."  
  
"Dare."  
  
No surprise there, concussed state of the Barton and all. "Idiot," she muttered. "I dare you to eat nothing but vegetables for two days."  
  
Clint nearly choked on his coffee. And since when was coffee a good idea at midnight anyway? "Nothing that can't be done tonight!" he protested.  
  
"You didn't make that rule to start with," she countered. "Dare stands."  
  
He huffed. "Someone's grumpy. Truth or dare, Hawkeye?"  
  
"Truth." Somebody had to be smart about this whole concussion thing, and Kate decided it was going to be her.  
  
Then Clint decided to be the immature little boy Clint he could sometimes be. He shot her that loopy grin that always meant trouble and said, "Do you like _like_ anybody?"  
  
She stared at him. "That's a ridiculous question!" she sputtered.  
  
"Truth or dare staple," Clint countered. "Now don't have to tell me who this question, just if." He had that whole look of 'I'm being nice here,' but Kate promptly decided to swear off truth for the evening.  
  
"Yes. Truth or dare?" she demanded before he could ask for any elaboration.  
  
He leaned back against the couch, arm behind his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Dare."  
  
Of course he would. Kate rolled her eyes. Crafting the perfect dare was a tough call. Finally, she settled on, "I dare you to clean up your mess of a kitchen."  
  
Clint leaned his head back and groaned. "You sadist. Tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow's soon enough," she decided.  
  
He threw a couch pillow at her. "Truth or dare?"  
  
"Dare."  
  
"Ha! You can't judge me."  
  
She raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I dare you to kiss the guy you like."  
  
She froze. He what…? She sat straight up, dumping a protesting Lucky off his half-lolling position on her lap, and crossed her arms severely.  
  
"You don't have to _tell_ him you like him," Clint pointed out. "Or kiss him tonight. Just like I'm eating vegetables tomorrow." He made a face, which just made Kate laugh at him.  
  
She could work with this. If she waited a few days, long enough to make sure the moment wasn't suspicious, he'd never be any the wiser. It would be fine. Nothing would change and she wouldn't have to 'fess up to an unrequited crush she wasn't supposed to have. "Fine. Pick one."  
  
She didn't have to be nice about it though.  
  
"Truth."  
  
"Do you like _like_ anybody?" she parroted back at him.  
  
Clint shrugged. "Nobody I'd be willing to consider pursuing. You're up."  
  
Cop out. "Dare."  
  
"I dare you to tell the guy when you kiss him that you're doing it for a dare."  
  
It was supposed to be _her_ secret, kept close to her chest, and she found herself swearing sharply. "F— you. F— you. F— your family. F— your cow…"  
  
"Whoa! Kate!" Clint held his hands up to stop her, eyes wide and alarmed. "Don't swear like that. It's disturbing."  
  
She glared at him, leaned in close, and said, "This is for a dare."  
  
Then she kissed him.  
  
For a moment, he was stunned and still and let her. He pulled away almost the same instant she did, staring at her more wide-eyed than before. "I'm going to bed," he finally said, clambered to his feet, and made good on the promise.  
  


* * *

  
  
Clint was still reeling from last night when he finally made himself come out in the morning to make a morning cup of coffee.  
  
Kate was still there. Of course. Not like concussions just went away and they _had_ promised to keep an eye on each other. She had relocated from the couch, still haphazardly spread with her blankets he'd dumped on her before their ill-advised game, and was sitting up on her favorite stool in the kitchen, drinking what the smell in the air promised was coffee already made better than he usually made it.  
  
She looked up when he came in the kitchen, studied him for a brief moment from wary eyes, then waved in the general direction of the pot.  
  
"Did you mean it?" he asked, not stopping the words from bubbling up between his teeth and rolling out where they had no business being.  
  
Clint wasn't supposed to want her, not when she was so much like him, when they were two sides of one coin, and he knew perfectly well that everything would go wrong if this went anywhere at all.  
  
But she just gave him that mutinous, stubborn look he recognized from the mirror and a few years knowing her and answered, "Yes," as if he should have known she wouldn't have lied to him and wouldn't have done anything like she had if she hadn't.  
  
He did know that.  
  
F—.  
  
Everything about this was an absolutely terrible idea. That didn't stop him though from leaning forward, seeing if she would let him—she _did_ —and kissing her back.  
  
She lost her mug in a hurry. Clint didn't even really listen for the clatter on the counter, just felt the way she clutched at his shoulders, kissed him harder, then he was making her lean back against the wall as he got her up and off the stool and onto him.  
  
This was a horrible idea, but it felt so good that he let himself go with it as far as she let him, and when she was raking her nails up under his shirt and dragging it off him, that was a whole lot further than he should want to go.  
  


* * *

  
  
They were both complicit in this. Kate had a pretty good idea that there was going to be a whole lot of fallout afterward if she let his hands slide her pants down and delve into her underwear, but his teeth were raking over her throat in the kind of kiss she'd never let a guy give her before, then his mouth was on hers with an intensity that made sense of all the fantastic women he managed to get. It's not like she hadn't known he was good with his hands and mouth and f—, he was making her squirm with where his fingers were moving and she got lost in the sight of his eyes intense on hers as she panted with the sensations he was provoking.  
  
It was utterly unfair.  
  
She growled and sank her teeth into his shoulder as she slid her own hands over his muscled body, then got his pants down and f—.  
  
"Condom," she got out in a breath.  
  
He groaned against her neck, cursed, but got the drawer open beside her and fished around until he had what he wanted.  
  
Then it was rough and banging into the wall with every motion, cursing, and holding on because this was Clint, this was Hawkeye and it felt good and wrong all at once, driving upward to a climax intense enough to make her see stars.  
  
They collapsed against each other, letting the wall hold them up, sweaty and aching and needing to say far more than they would probably ever be willing to. Clint didn't look at her, just leaned against her, and they stayed there a while, in a mess of their own making.


End file.
